The Queen
by Mrs. Son of Coul
Summary: Thrór and Thráin search for a suitable wife for the young Thorin. But when a strange malady afflicts two of the guests, will it be a princess who captures the heart of the prince?
1. Chapter 1

Thrór looked to his left at Thráin and shook his head as the doors of the Great Hall closed behind the entourage. Thráin nodded.

"I have no points of contention against the elvish kind," the king said, "but I do not believe they have much in common with our kind." His son nodded.

"'Tis indeed a pity there is no dwarvish woman for the prince to wife."

Thorin's neck and face grew warm.

_Do not speak of me as if I am not here. . ._

Gundar, the court herald, came before the royals and bowed low slowly, weary from the long processions that had filled the morning and the greater part of the afternoon.

"My lord, the Lady Hulda of Rhûn."

Thrór nodded permissively, and the doors opened again. Two dwarf guards ushered in a human woman in a floor-length velvet robe of the darkest crimson which she held up slightly as she ascended the stairs. Her hood was pulled back a bit, revealing hair the color of freshly mined bronze. A thin, black scarf was tied around her tanned face, hiding only her eyes. A small diamond pierced her left nostril in the fashion of the East. There were soft, bell-like chimes that sounded whenever her bare feet touched the floor.

She came to a halt, knelt on both knees, and pressed her forehead to the stone.

"My lord Thrór, King of and Under the Mountain."

Her voice was deep and colored by a soft brogue unfamiliar to Thorin. Thrór nodded, pleased.

"Please rise, Lady Hulda. I wish to welco-"

The woman stood, her mouth parted in surprise and no small amount of horror.

"Oh my lord, I . . . I beg your pardon, I . . . I am not Lady Hulda."

Thrór and Thráin exchanged a look.

"Then pray tell us who you are, daughter," Thráin said, his voice deceptively level.

"I am my lady's handmaid. My lady is ill and could not come before you as she was summoned." She faced Thorin – unknowingly, since he had not uttered a word since she had arrived. "We humbly beg your graces' forgiveness."

Thráin shifted his weight and spoke quietly with his father for a moment before turning to the woman.

"Who are we addressing?"

"They call me Marrh, my lord."

Thorin took a step towards her.

"What do _you _call yourself?"

She gasped, reassessing them and taking a step backwards.

"Myrrh, my lord."

Thráin snorted.

"What's the difference?"

She looked down, her expression darkening. Her answer came softly, painfully.

"_The_ _meaning_."

Thrór stood, towering over her as she knelt.

"Extend our invitation to your ladyship. She and her caravan may find rest here in our halls."

The woman touched her forehead to the ground again before rising unaided.

"I offer my humblest thanks, my lord."

The king nodded to the guards. One touched her shoulder, and she turned back towards the door. She paused at the steps hesitantly, lifting her skirts a bit.

Thorin found himself running to her side, taking her arm, and gently escorting her down the stairs. The faint scent of her musk made him heady and being nearly eye-level with a human made him feel strong.

She turned to him, seeming to gage his presence with cautious hesitancy. He bowed, kissing her hand softly. She inhaled sharply, her arm tensing. He straightened slowly.

"My lady Myrrh."

Her facial muscles contorted as a tear escaped the folds of her scarf. She ran towards the ornate encampment on the plains just outside of Dale, finding her footing easily, naturally. Thorin watched her, his heart pumping madly. She disappeared into the largest tent, and he caught his breath after what seemed to be an eternity. The nerves in his hand hadn't seemed to register the absence of hers, and he didn't wish them to. Turning, he returned to the throne, oblivious to the consternated stares of his father and grandfather.

As the other princesses and ladies filed through, he looked, but did not see.

_What's the difference?_

He could not forget her answer.

_The meaning._


	2. Chapter 2

Marrh pressed her hand against her mouth, fighting to suppress her sobs. The dry air burned her nostrils as she cried.

_"My lady Myrrh."_

Her frame shook as she remembered the kindness of the dwarf prince.

_He didn't know what it meant. . ._

She straightened as the adjoining tent flap was opened and Hulda ducked under.

"Marrh, whatever's the matter?" She lifted the scarf from the handmaid's face and raised it. "Did they hurt you?" Marrh shook her head, unable to answer. "Were they . . . displeased you went in my stead?" She looked away. Hulda stood, swaying a bit.

"M'lady, you should not be out of your tent," Marrh said softly, guiding her to a footstool. She knelt, gently taking her scarf back. "They _did _offer us shelter, m'lady." Hulda nodded.

"It's a shame we shall refuse it."

"M'lady?"

Hulda stood, shooing Marrh away.

"Consider it, Marrh. If we accept the hospitality, we are indebted. I can't afford to be indebted to somebody who is openly searching for a _wife _for their grandson." She crossed her arms and snorted. "Especially a _dwarf_."

Heat blossomed in Marrh's face.

"But m'lady, he was kind-"

"Of course _he _was kind. He has to be; he's in search of a bride. But you didn't see him, did you?" Marrh shook her head. "Have you ever seen a dwarf before, girl?"

"No, m'lady."

"I have."

A dry silence hung in the air, one that was meant to be understood but was not.

". . . What do they look like?"

"Dwarves are short, stout, stubbly and grimy creatures. All they do is mine for riches; their greed consumes them. They drink incessantly. And their women have beards, Marrh!"

She blinked.

"Well . . . the women can't help-"

"It doesn't matter, Marrh! We came here because my father forced me to come! I'm not going to marry a _dwarf!_"

"Of course not, m'lady."

"Accepting their hospitality is tempting, but I refuse to do it."

"But what about their healers? And aren't the dwarven archives a worthy match for those of Gondor?"

Hulda snorted, visibly weakened by the simple act of standing.

"It matters not: we're leaving."

Hulda gasped and bent over. Marrh steadied her, leading her back to her tent.

"Guards!"

Two dropped their spears and carried the princess the rest of the distance. Marrh followed slowly, gazing back at the gates of Erebor.

Suddenly, her senses left her, and she fell into darkness.


End file.
